After the dinner, we removed to a large tent erected upon a spacious lawn, to witness the tricks of the snake-charmer. Martin, Marie, and I sat upon the grass, our seniors on couches upon the opposite side of the tent.
There were two performers—the snake-charmer, an old man, who, once seen, could never be forgotten, for not only had he a huge hump upon his back, but a wen upon his neck, so large, that it seemed to be outgrowing his head, which it pushed upon his right shoulder; the other was his attendant, a boy, rather good-looking than otherwise, for a Javanese peasant.
Marie, having frequently witnessed this man’s performance, looked on now with nonchalance, but Martin and I strained our eyes to the utmost, towards a large box which the old man began to open, as soon as the boy commenced playing upon a native fife or flute. At the sound of the instrument, the lid of the box being now removed, the hooded head of a spectacled snake raised its crest about a foot above the side, at first languidly, though gracefully, and as if listening to the music; but when the boy played a more lively air, the beautiful reptile moved its head and neck fantastically, as if endeavoring to keep time. After some five minutes, the old man, baring one of his arms, knelt by the side of the box, when, I supposed at the time, because the boy happened to discontinue the music, the neck of the reptile became swollen, and in an instant it had fixed its fangs upon the man’s arm.
Up jumped Martin, crying, “The poor old man will be killed!” and in another second he would have grasped the snake; but simultaneously Marie seized his hands, and, with a strength lent to her by terror alone, dragged him back.
“Foolish cousin!” she exclaimed; “had you approached one step nearer the cobra, you would not have lived out the day.”
A cobra! How my heart sickened at the name. That beautiful snake was, then, the reptile of whose deadly bite I had heard and read so much.
As for Martin, ever fearless of harm to himself when another was in danger, he struggled to escape from Ebberfeld, who had now come to the assistance of our cousin, exclaiming frenzily:
“The poor old man will be killed, I tell you. See, the blood is pouring from his arm! Drive away the snake!”
“Foolish boy,” replied mynheer; “remain where you are; that old man is the cobra’s master. It is by these tricks he lives. What is play to him would be death to you.”
This explanation quieted my brother, and made him laugh; but speedily our attention was turned in another direction: our brave cousin, overcome by her exertions or terror at my brother’s narrow escape, had swooned.